poker games that would attract a gambler of his brother’s caliber.
After he found Evan, he and Sam, who was the older brother, would look for little brother Jubal. Then they’d go to Vengeance Creek together and find out what happened. All he had to do was hope that he got to his brothers
All he had to do was hope that he got to his brothers before they went and got themselves killed.
Chapter Three
Evan McCall examined the cards on the table very carefully—not only his own, but everyone else’s. In addition, he remembered the cards that had already been folded. His excellent memory was just one of the things that made him such a good gambler.
That, and his patience.
He had been sitting in this game for four hours waiting for the right hand to come along, and this was it.
The man across from him was the only one at the table who was winning more than he. That man’s name was Luke Short. Also sitting at the table were Bat Masterson, Dick Stark, Jack Foxx and Carl Dekker. Of all the other men, Masterson was the only one who was even. Stark and Foxx were losing with grace, but Carl Dekker was losing and not liking it one bit.
Evan McCall had played poker with Short and Masterson before. This was the first time he’d played with the other three. He didn’t mind Stark and Foxx, but Dekker’s whining was getting on his nerves.
As for this hand, he and Short and Dekker were still in it. The others had folded and were watching the proceedings with great interest.
All six men had come to San Francisco for the express purpose of taking part in this game, which was now in its third day. The place was a hotel suite at the Alhambra Hotel. The management had supplied the suite at no cost, because it enjoyed having men of such caliber as guests.
Besides, whatever they won at poker some of them usually lost in the casino.
Evan sat back now and regarded his opponent’s cards. Dekker was still in the game with a pair of kings on the table. Short had tens, which Evan considered more of a threat than the other man’s kings. A third king had already been folded, while the other two tens were apparently still at large.
On the table directly in front of him he had a pair of threes. On the board he was low man, but he had that feeling.
“It’s your bet, Dekker,” Masterson said. He was the dealer.
“This is one hand I ain’t losin’,” Dekker said. He picked up some chips and tossed them into the pot. “Two hundred.” The next bet was Evan’s. They still had one more card to come, so Evan simply called.
“I raise two hundred,” Luke Short said.
“Ha!” Dekker said, “I call.”
Masterson looked at Evan, who said, “Call.”
“Comin’ out,” Masterson said, and dealt out the seventh card facedown.
“Your bet, Dekker.”
“Five hundred,” Dekker said, without hesitation.
All eyes turned to Evan. He took his time, looking at his hole cards even though he knew what they were.
“McCall?” Masterson said.
Evan wished that Short were betting before him, but he decided to go ahead and raise.
“I raise five hundred,” he said, tossing the chips into the pot.
“With threes?” Dekker asked, incredulous. “Even if you’ve got three of them—”
“Can we have a little less talk?” Luke Short asked.
Dekker glared at Short, but fell silent.
“It’s a thousand to you, Luke,” Masterson said.
“Call the thousand,” Short said, “and raise.”
“A thousand?” Dekker demanded.
“That’s the raise,” Short said.
Dekker, sweating profusely, examined the small stacks of chips in front of him. It was quite clear to everyone that he didn’t have the thousand.
“Dekker?” Masterson said.
“Gimme a minute!” Irritably, Dekker looked at his hole cards. “My credit—”
“No credit,” Masterson said.
“I can get the money—”
“We play with what we have in this room,” Masterson reminded him.
The only time any of them left the room was when they all took a break or suspended play for a rest period. At that time they were able to replenish their cash supply, if they had to. No one, however, left the room during the game. If they did, they were not allowed back.
“You know the rules, Dekker.”
“But I don’t have another thousand!”
Masterson looked away from him to Evan McCall.
“It’s your bet.”
“Wait a minute—” Dekker said, standing up.
“Dekker,” Masterson said, “either sit down or get out.”
Dekker glared and fumed, but finally sat down to watch the outcome of the hand.
Evan called and raised, and Short called. As it turned out, Short had tens full, and Evan had four threes— which he’d had through six cards. He hadn’t even needed the seventh.
“Gentlemen,” Masterson said, “I believe this is the end.”
“And what an end!” Dick Stark said.
“I don’t believe it,” Carl Dekker said. “Four threes!
That’s the third time you’ve had four of a kind—”
“Luck,” Evan said.
“That’s what
“Don’t say something you’ll be sorry for, Dekker,”
Masterson said.
“I want a chance to get my money back.”
“The game is over,” Masterson said. He had been considered the host of this particular game. “Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. I suggest we go down to the bar for drinks.”
Dekker leaped to his feet and said, “I won’t drink with a—”
“Dekker!” Masterson snapped, cutting him off.
They all stared at Dekker, and then at Evan McCall. It was obvious that Dekker had been about to call McCall a cheater.
“Dekker, I think you’d better leave first,” Masterson said.
“And if I don’t?”
Masterson, not yet thirty, was the youngest man at the table, but was perhaps the most respected—and feared. He reached across the table with a gold-headed cane he’d taken to carrying when in San Francisco and tapped Dekker’s chest with it.
“I’ll have to make you.”
Dekker looked around the table, found no support from anyone, and then turned on his heel and left.
Masterson turned to Evan McCall and said, “I’d be careful if I was you. No tellin’ what a sore loser will do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evan said. “Shall we go downstairs for those drinks?”
Evan McCall, Bat Masterson, Luke Short, and Dick Stark all repaired to the Alhambra bar for their choice ofdrinks. Evan and Stark chose beer, while Masterson and Short chose whiskey.
